


Transformers Mini-Fic Collection

by quidamling



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Some AUs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5268164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quidamling/pseuds/quidamling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title: The music meme that goes around every once in a while, play random songs, write till they end.<br/>'Verses: Totally Random.... Mostly Bay-verse, though there are some that are AUs<br/>Characters: Whomever volunteered<br/>Summary: Ummm... even I don't always know.<br/>Rating/Warnings: PG-13<br/>AN: I ALWAYS cheat, and finish it.   I am unrepentant about this.</p><p>These wander through about any plot bunny/AU I have access to or dabble in.   There are blatant contradictions between snippets.  I am also unrepentant about this.  ♥</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transformers Mini-Fic Collection

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies that this is rather old, but I rediscovered it on the hard drive.
> 
> Some help on the AUs... 
> 
> The "Mechs turned Cyborg" AU, it's mainly Ironhide and Ratchet turned Cyborg against their will and the badness they must endure.
> 
> The "Autobots as Human Police/Fire/Rescue" AU has everyone in some manner.  
> Ophelia= Optimus, Jo/Johanna=Ironhide, Erin=Ratchet, Reba=Red Alert, Fernado=Inferno, Sean=Sideswipe, Petra=Prowl, Jamie=Wheeljack

**_ The Fray - 'All at Once' _ **

Maybe you want her, maybe you need her... Jo shook her head, cursing the meanderings of mind and song lyrics during menial manual labor. Just about finishing her shift in with the assorted rigs of the house. Ambulances, the fire trucks, cruisers, even a jet ski. The tedious work of checking all the oil levels, regular maintenance, clearing out Reba and Fernando’s damn takeout from the Fire Command vehicle. She was smitten, it was official, meandering over to the ambulance and plopping down on the back step of the shining rig. Her parents weren’t around to disapprove, and God knew her brother would understand…

 

 

**_ John Butler Trio - 'Devil Running' _ **

Slowly, black geared men and women slinking through chaos and weaving through a nightmare created by one sick man.

 

Pre-dawn they got into position. Closing escapes, tightening the noose. Ophelia called commands over their radio, moving the rest of the team as Petra had planned. Johanna ground her jaw until her cheek was raw, clammy hands gripping the butt of her pistol, just waiting for the clear. Erin had to be inside, had to be ok…

 

It took three hits with the ram to break through the door. The gray figure straightened, a blade to a creamy throat, the red of laser sights seemed like demonic red eyes in the shadows. A quick flick and Jo screamed, rage and something feral that made him blink; then the bastard bolted.

 

She was moving before she heard the command to hold back, wrath in black. He was startled enough to stumble, twisting awkwardly and producing a weapon. The bullet hit her vest, turning the world white. Jo pounced, jamming her pistol up under his jaw hard enough for blood to dribble from his lips. Ophelia and the rest circled them, pinning the man and Petra pulled her off, “Jo, _Jo_ … **Erin**. Go.”

 

 

**_ Bacilos - 'Mi Primer Millon' _ **

Jazz worked so hard, and Prowl appreciated it. He could never stand that life, the noise, the fans. But Jazz seemed so at home in that world. He and Soundwave could spend ages just fiddling with one line of simple notes to get the tone just right. The performances buzzed with energy, the pulsing beat of music and Jazz’s beautiful voice. Sometimes Prowl stood at the back of the bar and smiled. His coworkers occasionally found his dorsalwings dipping subtly to an audioclip of a favorite song. The hazards of a quiet filing and sorting job.

 

It was really popular. But Prowl loved the sentiment more.

 

_“I just want to get to the commlines, to earn a few credits, to buy you a big home, in which to house your spark.”_

 

 

**_ Irish Rovers - 'Coulter’s Candy' _ **

‘Hide watched the sparklet squealing happily with Jazz, and rumbled softly in amusement. Little silver bit, completely unaware of how tiny he was, and demanding a portion of his energon goodie just because he wanted it. Playing chase, and being far faster than made any sense. Always surprising, offering a cling to leg plating at just the right moment to break a bad mood. The contented little purry chirps, curling over a familiar sparkpulse and tiny hands gripping to plating…

 

Ratchet snuck up behind his distracted mate, slipping arms around Ironhide’s waist. “You’re practically purring,” he murmured, laying a kiss onto a black shoulder. “What gives?”

 

Crested helm tipped to the little silver bit across the way. “Just thinking, of a certain prickly little sparkling…” He twisted and draped an arm over the Hummer’s back.

 

“I wasn’t that bad,” Ratch gave his trademark sharky grin.

 

“As easy to handle then as now,” ‘Hide rumbled, nudging his brow against chartreuse.

 

“Yeah, told you- HEY!”

 

 

**_ Clannad – 'Theme from Harry’s Game' _ **

The mech wrenched his energon sword through the neck and cranial case of the Decepticon Bonecrusher and dropped the sparking processors at his feet. He turned his helm towards his troops that had continued on ahead. Folding down into his alt, the Prime barreled towards his subordinates.

 

Two very different voices and a single databurst screamed through his processors…

 

**Fraggit Jazz - Aft took on Megatron-**

 

**Optimus! Jazz is…**

 

:Prime… Now, we need you! :

 

 

**_ Further Seems Forever – 'Make it a Part' _ **

Her life was sedate; she went about her days, to work, home, groceries, cleaning… Petra spent so much time blocking out her memories and her life with her ex-husband that she never quite realized she had left a negative mark. Sometimes her coworkers dragged her out for a few drinks, coaxed her to the station parties. She saw the vibrancy in their lives; the colors in their relationships, the fire in Jo and Erin that made her life poured into her work seem monochrome. Black and white.

 

Huddled in a ball in a comfy chair of a bookstore after her shift ended, she glanced up at someone politely clearing his throat.

 

“ _Reconciliation_ ,” he drawled, islands and warmth coloring his accent. “Sounds like ah good book.” Creamy mocha complexion, sparkling brown eyes dancing above a silver pair of sunglasses pulled down his nose, dark jeans countered with a blue and red tie. He swirled the coffee in his hand, “Seema lil chilled, may Ah treatcha to a drink?”

 

 

**_ Robbie Robertson – 'Shine your Light' _ **

Jo couldn’t help the whimper. She did have every right to complain, with the bruise and welt on her flank the size of a grapefruit. Even so, she tried to bite back the next, unable to help but consider it a sign of weakness.

 

It had begun as a simple traffic stop.

 

Two idiots. Too fast. Probably too much booze.

 

She’d pulled out behind them and flicked lights and siren. They did pull over, but it almost took just a few moments too long. Taking the time to let them stew; run the plates and radio the information in, a brief back and forth with Reba before clicking the radio back onto the center console.

 

The two were glancing back at her and talking quickly with each other. The detective’s hackles went up, idly unclipping her weapon and setting her thumb over the safety as she approached the vehicle. Great, the morons probably had an open container, or a bag of pot and were getting antsy. Just what she wanted to deal with in the last hour of her shift…

 

“License and registration, please.” Johanna ordered, looking over the interior of the sports car.

 

The driver returned her gaze, but the other was fidgeting and peering anywhere but at her. When the passenger reached for the glove compartment, they hissed at each other.

 

“Is there a problem?”

 

“Nah, nah. Here. … _Miss_.”

 

Johanna didn’t huff, but it was obvious he’d almost said something much more colorful. Sexist bastard. She took the ID and the crumpled paperwork, thumbing the corner she was almost sure it was a fake license. “You know you were going a bit fast, back there?”

 

“No, I didn’t see a limit sign no where.”

 

Glancing at the back of the most recent sign, not a hundred yards back, she nodded. “I’ll be a minute with these.”

 

_Trust your gut. Her father had always said, ‘Trust yer damn gut.’_

 

As Johanna was walking back to her cruiser, she kept her right hand on her weapon. Her other hand clicked the walkie at her shoulder. “Control, come in. Reba, need you to run a check. Driver’s ID 84, 7 80-” Then she heard the crack; time slowed, training kicking in and it seemed like an eternity for her to tense. _Draw sidearm, crouch, turn, flank the cruiser, return fire, call for back up…_

 

But that didn’t happen. She felt like she’d been loosed from a slingshot, jolting forward and falling to her knees. The scream of tires behind her, the smell of burning rubber. Burning, pain. Pain? Slingshot. Shot. They’d taken a shot. She’d taken a shot. It hurt. The sound of the car faded at her back. Back. Shot in the back.

 

Like watching it happen. She pulled her pistol from the holster, pivoted on her knees and leaned against the front quarterpanel of her cruiser, then emptied three shots at the retreating car. There was at least one reassuring clank of metal meeting metal.

 

It had been less than seconds. Johanna had to force herself to breathe again. It hurt to. But breathing is important, keep doing it anyway.

 

Call for backup.

 

“Shots fired,” she gasped into the walkie. “Suspect fleeing the scene. Requesting backup and medical.”

 

“Officer 312, report,” Reba called. The 911 operator began coordinating the other members of the house rolling out.

 

“Immediate assistance…” Johanna replied shakily, securing her weapon and leaning against the metal of the vehicle. She was terrified to touch her back, the blinding throb burning low above her hip. “Officer down…” Jo just cradled her head against the car with her arm, not wanting to feel her hand come away wet if the bullet had missed her vest.

 

“Ambulance en route, 312. Jo, Johanna, hold on.”

 

The ebony-haired woman could only chuckle, Reba of all people breaking radio protocol, but stopped when that pierced fresh agony up her spine.

 

She let herself slip into a hazy world, the traffic seemed to fade, just the sound of her forcing herself to breathe and her pounding heartbeat.

 

There were faint sirens. They got louder, she heard the bleep of cruisers race by, then the wail of an ambulance stop beside her. Voices spoke, took her pulse, told her to move, shined lights in her eyes, eased her onto a gurney. The bump of being loaded into the rig made her see stars. Only then, they removed her shirt and vest.

 

She didn’t feel blood pool as the clothes came away, but when someone touched her it took everything not to scream or be sick. Or both.

 

_“The Kevlar caught it, still should get her checked out. CAT scan in case it damaged the kidney or her hip bone. Start a morphine…”_

 

Morphine, painkillers were her friend.

 

The rig doors closed, completing the cottony cocoon that the meds were quickly beginning.   Things stayed in the fuzzy dreamlike place for being brought into the hospital, there she was stripped the rest of the way from her uniform, poked and prodded and scanned. More familiar voices drifted in.

 

_“All considered, she was very, very lucky. A matter of inches. We just want to keep her overnight in case of a slow internal bleed or complications.”_

 

When the drugs started to wear off, and things came back into focus, she was in one of those stupid hospital gowns in a private room. There was an IV in her arm and an ice pack on her hip. Ophelia being present she could understand, the concern evident on her face. The twins flanked her bed, Sean reached and brushed black hair from her brow in a show of support. Reba was there as well, held tightly in Fernado’s arms. Jo croaked a ‘thanks’ to her and the other woman nodded. Petra stood quietly at the foot of the bed, peering at Jamie. Johanna hoped that whatever he was working on was not a get-well-present. The only part that she could not understand, determined that it had to be the morphine, was why Erin was glaring at her like she was furious.

 

She nodded as people spoke (hopefully in the right places), hoped that stabbing at the painkiller button on her IV was not too obvious, and winced each time she tried to roll over.

 

Quietly the thought wormed through her mind that they could have just as easily been standing around her coffin as her bed.

 

As the crowd started drifting off, the Detective wanted to beg them to stay, not to leave her alone. Then the nurse came to shoo the visitors away with authority, to leave her to aches and the might-have-beens that require the visits with the county shrink before she can be returned to full, active duty. A few final goodbyes and she heard the door close.

 

When Jo tried to roll over the whimpers started escaping from her throat. The first was bad enough, the others fast on its heels felt like they had claws. She hurt, she was badly shaken, she was terrified that maybe she couldn’t return to work, and she was alone. The earliest that Heath could possibly arrive would be the morning. Johanna closed her eyes and tried to let the drugs drag her back to sleep.

 

A weight settled on the edge of the bed and she jumped, hissing in renewed pain. Jo opened her eyes to see red hair, Erin wrapped her arms around the detective’s shoulders.

 

“I don’t need to say it.”

 

“I- I could have died.”

 

“Or the possible internal hemorrhaging, kidney damage, nerve damage…” When Jo trembled, the paramedic stopped. “You’re fine. You will be fine, it’s just a precaution."

 

The wall broke and she started crying, the pain from shaking and gasping adding to her grief. Erin simply held the Police officer until she finally collapsed to sleep.

 

 

**_ Beatles - 'Revolution' _ **

Sam had always sort of liked that song. He could listen to music from before he was born without rolling his eyes. His dad had taught him all the greats, 60s Rock and Roll, 70s classic rock, 80s power ballads.

 

Revolution, wanting to change the world. Seemed like things that the politicians could manage, the glitterati were spokespeople for… save the rainforests, save the whales, save mankind and the planet Earth…

 

They never mentioned the last one like it was something that one person could accomplish. The teenager that managed to rescue his home and everyone he knew from a giant alien overlord; he effectively changed the course of a genocide of mechanical beings that was covered with the silken words of a silver tongue. ‘Revolution,’ the youth could never listen to the song the same way.

 

 

**_ Broadway Lion King - 'Rafiki Mourns' _ **

A few words, then silence. Surrounded by aliens, more than a billion to one. The silver frame hung heavy in his hands. The frame of his brother, molten and broken at his feet. Three subordinates still online that needed attention, direction, protection in a universe suddenly utterly changed. Look to the living. As the youngest of their number speaks up, for the first time in vorns, he is thankfully held to the present. Mourning must be later.

 

Work is to be done; the medic looks to the others, drowning himself in his duties. The warrior concerns himself with security and a base. The youngest has a charge, another to focus on.

 

After meetings, coordination, secrets and stories and hidden among the people of their new home. Then, only then does he find the time. The isolation. The others needed him stoic and strong.

 

He finally found a fitting tribute to a dear friend, a subordinate, trusted advisor and expressive young mech he had attempted to corral down the right path. And this mech had been different, unique, and for so long, his Second on a distant journey.

 

Found release in the music of this new world. Sometimes words, sometimes anguished cries, tones so joyful or melancholy that they seemed capable of melting your spark.

 

He dropped to his knees, away from view of any of the others, awash in the sounds and letting the shudders wrack his frame. Cathartic, and Optimus felt that it was fitting to mourn Jazz with the music he'd had so little time on this planet to explore.

 

 

**_ Rob Thomas - 'When the Heartache Ends' _ **

There is something terribly wrong. You’re brittle. You’ve never been like this in your whole existence. I know, I was there since the beginning. Always been, in some way, because you’ve tied shackles around my spark. And it’s alright. I move all directions, others, you, corners, and the outskirts, the battlefield, my duties. Near you, in whatever I am allowed. Everyone knows, it seems, the whispers. But in this, I can’t care. There is no way I could spend eternity without you.

 

I’m there.

 

It’s never easy with you. I never know quite what breaks you or makes you whole.

 

So I stand here silent, and almost start to feel you caving in. I try to hold the pieces together.   I don’t know what terrifies you so much. Why we seem to fight about nothing. And fight. Not snark back and forth, darling Terror. We _fight_.

 

I dig, but can’t get to where you have buried yourself.

 

Why don’t you tell me, my friend?

 

Something deep down tells me to hold on. You just need to know, it’s alright. I’ll still be here when the sparkache ends.

 

 

**_ Brendan Benson - 'Cold Hands, Warm Heart'  _ **

They lay in companionable silence, happy to be in the company of the other during a quiet moment. Hands and fingers moved idly over plating. ‘Hide lay on his back, arms wrapped around a lazy cat of a Hummer draped over his chest, their legs pleasantly entangled. One grey hand lay warm and heavy over spinal struts, while the other cupped the back of the medic’s neck, thumb lightly tracing along the lower edge of a smooth, noble helm. The sleeker mech had his head nestled securely in the crook at the TopKick’s neck and shoulder. Deft fingers seemed to glow, splayed over ebony plating. Ratchet made a slow sensual move every so often and nuzzled his brow against the black throat, delighting in the pleased rumble it always elicited from the engine beneath his own.

 

 

**_ Rob Thomas - 'All That I Am'  _ **

Jumped off of SC's 50 sentence fic.

http://community.livejournal.com/4_cubic_metres/7627.html#cutid1

 "#19 - Soul - When the last phrase ends, he finds himself staring stupidly at the Topkick - and here he thought the old lugnut couldn't tell A# from the aft-end of a camshaft."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_…all that I am_

 

As Ratchet walked by the room, the sound leaking out made him pause. It was deep and surprisingly rich melody. As he slipped through the slightly open door and froze, his jaw dropped; unable to grasp exactly what he was seeing. Actually, it was a combination of what he was seeing and hearing that threw him. Standing there, back to the door, quietly to himself and completely lacking self-conscious hesitancy - Ironhide was singing.

 

_I am the white dove for a soldier, ever marching as to war_

_I would give my life to save you, I stand guarding at your door_

_I give you all that I am_

 

The weapons specialist paused, and Ratchet tensed, thinking he was caught. But the mech didn’t turn, and his movements followed a certain rhythm, leading the Hummer to guess that ‘Hide was simply singing along with a song he was playing to himself through the comms. During the interlude between lyrics the only activity in the armory was the sound of a weapon being disassembled, calibrated and reassembled. The medic practically jumped when the mech resumed singing, he didn’t think he could remember a time ever hearing that mech utter a single musical sound.

 

_I am the one-winged bird for flying, sinking quickly to the ground_

_I’m a blind man for a watchdog, I am prime for giving in_

_I’ll show you all that I am_

 

_And I breathe, so you breathe_

_Let me stand, so you stand_

_With all that I am_

 

When the sound faded again, Ratchet crossed his arms and leaned against a pistol rack. He’d heard better, he’d definitively heard worse. Ironhide had changed the key and dropped it an octave or more to match his voice, it gave the song a darker, haunting quality. The medic found himself shuttering his optics, and focusing on the notes issuing from the slightly larger mech.

 

_And I breathe, so you breathe_

_Let me stand, where you stand_

_And I breathe, so you breathe_

_Let me stand, so you stand_

_With all that I am_

 

There was a strange tone to the song. When Ironhide went quiet for a while the medic moved. He came up beside his companion and reached to place a hand on black plating of the mech’s back.

“Ratchet.” Ironhide rumbled, and turned to the startled Hummer before contact was made.

“You, you knew I was here?” He dropped his hand to his side. Somehow it seemed wrong that he was the one embarrassed in this situation. The TopKick was simply looking at him. Ratch resisted the urge to growl; he should know Ironhide would do whatever he did with absolute conviction, and anyone else’s opinions be fragged. The chartreuse mech felt flustered and caught out.

“Course.” He set down the weapon and a blunt gray digit reached and tapped Ratchet’s chest. “Pay attention to some sigs.” No embarrassment; he’d been singing, and the medic heard. Statement of fact.

“I’d…” This made no sense. The Hummer was never at a loss for words. “I didn’t think you paid them any mind.” Ratchet stepped in to broad black chassis, looking at Ironhide with a guardedly shocked expression. “Or knew human music.”

Ironhide wrapped his arms around the rescue vehicle. “I like that one. Makes me think of you.” He nudged his forehead against Ratchet’s sleeker helm.

The medic’s engine purred and he rested his head against Ironhide’s shoulder. “Any others you like?”

A low roll of a chuckle rumbled through Ironhide’s chassis. The vibration of his voice carried between their frames, touching Ratchet right to his core.

 

 

**_ Sting - 'When Dolphins Dance'  _ **

**(an instrumental of _Englishman in New York_ and _When We Dance_ )**

No matter where Jazz went, he managed to saunter there. Prowl was the more sedate mech by his side. The silver frame would circle his black and white bonded, seemingly moving twice the distance as the tactician did with all of his spins and doubling back. The mech managed to find a beat, creating his own music and dance around the steady tempo of Prowl’s footfalls. At first it looked like it would drive the logical mech out of his expansive processors, and initially, it did. But Jazz slipped little touches along plating, a hint of a caress over a doorwing as he moved. It was a true expression of his personality and his love for his mate, so logically, Prowl couldn’t help but love the quirk.

 

“Jazz, isn’t that a stupendous waste of energon?”

“Be yourself, not matter what they say, Prowler…”

Eventually, Prowl took to taking the long way around, simply to spend longer walking with his beloved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was soon after the launch of the Allspark, and teams were breaking up to attempt to retrieve it before Megatron. Jazz found Prowl in front of a computer terminal and quietly got his attention with a stroke to a shoulder. Smooth silver digits took elegant white hands, with the same grace Jazz which imbibed all of his movements, but a tremor shook through them.

Prowl made a soft sound, concerned.

“Let’s you and I go for a walk, Prowlie-bot.”

The tactician nodded and followed his saboteur, out of the base, held dark in case of attack, and to the rooftop out beneath the stars. Jazz’s normally brilliant smile was dimmed, but still dazzling. “You know the orders coming through?”

“Yes, Optimus will need you with him. I am slated to lead another team.” Prowl stopped, looking up at the lights twinkling through the dim atmosphere. He was drawn back by a touch to his cheek.

Jazz circled Prowl then, running his hands over the mech, setting every part of his being firmly into his memory. A hitch of wings and Prowl stopped his mate before him, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Then he made a rare reversal, spinning around his silver mate, mapping Jazz’s form just as had been done to himself. Without a word, Jazz joined in, creating a complex whirling dance between the two of them, movements and touches and glances.

“Just to hold your image in my spark until I see you again…"

 

 

**_ Peter Gabriel - 'I have the Touch'  _ **

He was such a tactile mech. Not the same sensory net as Jazz, to avoid being detected behind enemy lines. Nor the sensitive panels flanking his back like Prowl and Bumblebee were equipped with, picking up vibrations, pressure, treble, bass, and wind motion to gather as much information for either retrieval or analysis.

No. The sensitive pads were much more localized, and for less common but significantly more urgent matters.

Ratchet’s hands.

Letting the medic find and repair damage, touch deftly over injury to determine the cause of pain and fix it. Ironhide loved those hands. He always found comfort in them, the way those strong, lean digits could move over his frame. After a battle, those hands had brought him back time and time again. Flipping forth the required tools to clamp off an energon line as ‘Hide’s fuel drained away, coaxing an abused joint back into place, smoothing over injuries. The frontliner had slipped into the uneasy recharge post-op with the CMO’s hand resting on his shoulder more times than he cared to count. It always soothed his spark.

Now as those hands roamed over his faceplates, tracing the scrapes and finding their way to his lip components, shaking with delightful tremors from the attention Ironhide’s own hands were giving to the medic’s back and aft above him, the weapons specialist growled appreciatively. He reveled in the other reason that he loved those hands. Taking a single slim finger into his mouth and pressing it gently between his dental plates, the low mewl that escaped from Ratchet nearly made ‘Hide’s spark pulse hard enough to leap from his chamber.

 

 

**_ Man of La Mancha - 'The Impossible Dream (finale)'  _ **

The Prime had to keep positive, cling to the hope that someday Cybertronians would be a united species once again. There was no real difference between an Autobot and a Decepticon, he was determined. The Decepticon’s armor and weaponry modifications were to their frames, not their sparks. It was not truly core programming. Individuals changed factions, two sparklings of the same creators would sometimes choose opposing sides of the war. So it came down to individual choices. On some level they choose to never end the war. Someday there would either be no one left to fight it, or they would choose to end it.

He chose the latter. That impossible positive determination was all he was. After all, this Prime’s designation was Optimus.

 

 

**_ Imogen Heap - 'Missing You'  _ **

They fit. Two halves of a whole. Opposite sides of a credit chip. Destruction and repair. Cannons and wrenches. Then why did it never seem to work? They would come together for a few brief orns, then pull apart. Different assignments. Getting too close. Usually Ratchet pulled away. Shutting the door on what consistently developed with a finality that left even the normally stoic Ironhide shattered. Both would dive back into their duties. Couldn’t get attached, there was a war. Drifting to other lovers. Either could be deactivated. Always pulled back.

Because it was too deep. It terrified the both of them, but they couldn’t deny it.

 

 

**_ Bill Whalen - 'The Harvest'  _ **

Bumblebee practically flew over the plains, careening down the winding rural roads with a gleeful abandon that matched the emotions of the two charges within the Camaro. Sam and Mikaela had made it. She had finished school, becoming an engineer. He had graduated from West Point, becoming the soldier that William Lennox had called him those years ago in Mission City. Music poured from the yellow vehicle’s sound system, wordless and elated, just like the newlyweds laughing in the driver and passenger seats as they headed cross-country for their honeymoon. Married in California with all their friends and family, heading to the fall of New England to spend their first days as man and wife.

 

 

 ** _A-ha - 'Take on Me' (Trance Remix_** )

Jazz liked the feeling of techno. Prowl just groaned and attempted not to show his exasperation beyond that. The pulsing beat drove the sensors in his doorwings to distraction. But his bondmate lit up, feeling the bass and treble just as much as the police cruiser, but reveling in it with his classic abandon. As loathe as the more sedate portion of the pair was to admit it, he adored watching Jazz move. The silver mech was lithe and smooth and contorted his frame into positions that no mech had any right getting themselves into. The grace with which the Solstice moved caught his attention enough to ignore the feathery sensations ghosting over his back, and remain.

“C’mon Prowler, dance.”

“No, I…” but a sleek white hand slipped into a silver clawed one, and Prowl moved with the music for once, instead of fighting it.

 

 

**_ L’Arc~en~Ciel - 'Caress of Venus'  _ **

Her hips rocked back and forth in the rough tempo of a human heartbeat. Will paused with the cereal spoon inches from his lips and simply watched Sarah twirl around the kitchen trying to quiet their unhappy daughter. The tune from his wife’s lips was simple, and the words were garbled, but that didn’t matter to their child. Annabelle’s cries soon dropped to half-hearted whimpers.

“I’m still shocked how you do that, honey.”

“Ah, Will, you’ll get the hang of it. You’ve only been _Daddy_ for three days.” She moved to hover behind the soldier and stroked his temple, calming her other baby.

 

 

**_ Pirates of the Caribbean OST - 'Bootstrap's Bootstraps'  _ **

Optimus Prime stood like a pillar at the edge of chaos. He was unbowed, despite the fact that the ancient balance between the Prime and the High Protector had collapsed into anarchy under the watches of this red and blue mech and his silver brother.   Iacon had fallen beneath the gladiators culled from the arenas in Kaon. When the united Cybertronians had split into two opposing factions under the former co-rulers, Optimus had lead with fairness. Protecting the helpless, giving them the tools to protect themselves, and gathering them together. That was not what impressed Ironhide most about this young Prime. It was that when they went into battle, Optimus led the troops from the front lines. Not cowering behind the battlements like previous Primes. He was beside them, beside the very frontliners he was ordering into the line of fire. Ironhide respected that Optimus was by his side.

 

 

**_ Remy Zero - 'Save Me'  _ **

Ratchet was an officer. He knew that put him at risk. Further working against him was the fact that he was one of the best medics for traversing the frontlines. Many medics were built small and lithe. While Ratchet did possess those qualities in some fashion, moreover he was uncommonly strong and rough. Thrown harshly in a Decepticon cell, he was thankful for those less common traits. The interrogator was framed, backlit by the light streaming into the cell and casting a shadow over the battered form of the CMO. They would get their information; codes, medical histories, through pain or more invasive techniques-

 

He knew they would be coming. They had to. He couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ just leave him there…

 

**_‘Hide…_ **

 

 

**_ Laura Creamer - 'Bonny Portmore'  _ **

It hit Optimus hardest in moments that he wasn’t expecting. As he learned about their new home, Sam had made a point to show the aliens the most beautiful portions of Earth. It was only as time went on that the Autobots learned about the uglier faces of the planet. Communities wrecked by natural disasters, pollution, resources wrenched from an area leaving nothing but a swath of desolation, war-torn cities, states, countries, continents. Seeing the devastation that humans wreaked upon themselves, such a young species with such as short lifespan. Echoing the million year destruction of his homeworld on a smaller timescale, there were moments it crushed his spark.

 

 

**_ Keane - 'Your Eyes Open'  _ **

They had come online opposite each other. Destined to rule in balance for the length of their existences. Red optics alighted, met blues. Pragmatic and idealistic. Firm hand, fair processors. They were supposed to equate each other, finding a middle road between each other. What Megatron did not tell his brother, his equal, was that deep in his spark, he knew that he was meant for more.

 

 

**_ Yellowcard - 'Cut Me, Mick'  _ **

“Ratch…” he curled reflexively, fighting the shudders wracking through his body.

 “Easy, ‘Hide. You’re fine. And you wouldn’t be in this mess if you could have actually behaved.” The red-headed cyborg snipped while cradling his bondmate to his chest.

Drug withdrawal or not, Ironhide couldn’t stay sick forever. They lay under the blankets, while Ratchet felt like he was cooking and wished that he still retained his mech coolant systems. Unfortunately, the former weapons specialist in his current state could not regulate his body temperature, so the medic quietly dealt with the discomfort and in turn comforted the more solid looking soldier. He kissed the slightly clammy brow, tucked against his neck in a reversal of their usual positions and ran his hand softly through short dark hair, barely brushing the black fins until Ironhide slipped into an uneasy sleep.

 

 

**_ Berserk OST - 'Waiting so Long' _ **

Dead planet, starved for energon, devoid of functional Cybertronians… except the few. Waiting. Continuing to follow the last order. Waiting for the message from their leader, saying he had found the Allspark and would return to rule Cybertron, and the galaxy.


End file.
